


War-Torn Early Morning

by superdreamcast64



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superdreamcast64/pseuds/superdreamcast64
Summary: Snake has a nightmare and leaves his room for some air. Bowser Jr. shows up. Snake has some insight into the little dictator's troubles, and perhaps vice versa. (MGS1 Solid Snake) (NOT A SHIPFIC)





	War-Torn Early Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I understand that the Solid Snake appearing in Smash Bros. is the Snake from Sons of Liberty, however I wanted to focus more on Metal Gear Solid for this story. Please excuse the lack of references to Sons of Liberty.

            _... Colonel?  
_

_“Please, Snake. Save my niece, Meryl.”  
_

_Can I trust her?  
_

_“More than you can trust me.”  
_

_Meryl, your eyes … they’re beautiful, compassionate eyes.  
_

_“You’re a sad, lonely man.”  
_

_Meryl, look out …!  
_

_BANG  
_

_“Shoot me, Snake!”  
_

_No!  
_

_“I promised … I wouldn’t slow you down!”  
_

_BANG  
_

_“I wanted to be a soldier …”  
_

_BANG  
_

_“… but war is ugly.”_  


            Snake awoke with a start. He was drenched in sweat and gasping deeply for air. He swore he could taste blood in his bone-dry mouth, if only for a fleeting second, and he swore he could see the afterimage of Sniper Wolf’s bullets flying through the air. He shakily brought his hands to his nose and sniffed deeply, searching for any trace of gunpowder lingering on his palms. There were none. Not tonight, and not any of the other countless nights he woke up in the early morning from a trauma-fueled nightmare. This would not be the last night this happened, either.  


            Snake shakily peeled himself off of the soaking wet bedsheets and sat hunched over his knees. He knew he would have to make yet another call to Smash Mansion’s housekeeping in the morning, asking for new sheets. He grappled with the idea that the workers, the so-called “Shy Guys”, knew all about Snake’s night terrors. It troubled him to think that these little men knew a hardened, legendary war veteran had wet the bed within recent memory. It troubled him even more to think they knew what was in his dreams. Their vacant stares and unquestioned subservience to everyone in the Mansion reminded him of himself.  


            Perhaps because his heart was still racing, or perhaps because he did not want to return to his nightmares, Snake decided then was as good a time as any to start his day. He rolled his eyes towards the digital clock on top of his bedside bureau, taking more than a few seconds to read the glowing green display that shouted “5:00 AM”. The numbers were burned into Snake’s retinas for a few seconds. _Perfect timing,_ he thought. It wasn’t too early to eat breakfast- at least, not for a veteran who had spent countless days waking up at this time- and, importantly, most of the other fighters at the Mansion were still asleep.  


            For reasons Snake couldn’t fathom, many of his fellow fighters had a distinct love for social interaction. They loved to talk at length to each other, and those who couldn’t talk would use incredible body language to communicate. Language barriers, disabilities, power distances, and cultural differences couldn’t stop the reckless extroversion that thrived in the Smash Mansion. The children played games together, the animals frolicked and wrestled together, the teens laughed obnoxiously together, the royals talked politics together, the villains schemed together … togetherness was not something Snake was used to, and not something he wanted to get used to. To him, too many personal connections were dangerous. They obstructed missions, and worse, they had the potential to end in suffering or death. To even be affiliated with the legendary Solid Snake would put a price on one’s head. He appreciated that other fighters made a point to include him in their activities, but nevertheless he made it his mission to avoid unnecessary interactions with them. Thus, breakfast at 5:00 AM was the perfect thing to pull him gently away from his past without thrusting him into the present. It was a peaceful limbo.  


            Snake slipped out of his drenched undershirt, tossed it into the designated laundry basket at the foot of his bed, and dragged a graphic T-shirt out from the creaky bureau. The shirt was a memory of his introduction to Smash, a comical little number that Mario had designed himself. It was all-white with the distinctive Brawl logo sprawled across the chest, now faded and flaking from hundreds of wash cycles. Snake only wore the shirt when he was alone or with Hal, who insisted the shirt was “really cool, actually.” Snake insisted he only wore the shirt because it was comfortable, but whether he really found only physical comfort in wearing it was a mystery. He slipped into a pair of dark gray sweatpants, something he loathed to wear outside. The looseness of the legs made him feel exposed. He felt the same way about his old military jacket, which scrunched up around his wrists but felt tight around the waist. He briefly ran a comb through the ends of his damp hair before feeling that the darkness and stickiness of his bedroom was stifling. Just minutes after he woke up, it was already long past time to leave. He swiftly collected his essentials- his codec, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a Swiss Army knife- and stuffed them into the many pockets of his jacket before shoving his feet into a pair of slippers and nearly sprinting out of the room. As he jogged down the hallway leading away from his room block, he passed two Shy Guys wheeling an empty laundry cart in the opposite direction. _They know I wake up this early, huh._  


            The Smash Mansion was easy to get lost in. Long corridors full of rooms of various shapes and sizes, meant to accommodate the needs of over 70 fighters from all manner of different universes. Cavernous bathrooms with pool-sized bathtubs, temperature-controlled dens of both the freezing-cold and sweltering-hot variety, a hospital-white yoga studio, small libraries with books written in incomprehensible languages, and an electrical closet with a powerful Van der Graaff generator buzzing inside were just a few of the strange rooms Snake had explored. He understood why many of the rooms existed for specific fighters, but he himself had not needed any special rooms to be constructed for his stay, so he mostly stayed out of any room that wasn’t his own bedroom. The only other room he could stand to be in was the cafeteria, and so he knew the path from his room to there by heart and could walk it with his eyes closed. He darted past the numerous foreign rooms, gliding down the winding staircases that were covered with deep scratches from unclipped heavyweight claws. When Snake finally made it to the cafeteria, he took a deep breath and prayed that nobody would be awake this early. His prayers were answered.  


            The Mansion’s cafeteria was surprisingly barebones for a building of such specificity. There was an array of circular metal tables taking up most of the space, with some tables being smaller and lower to the ground than others. The chairs matched the tables, though they had worn-out pleather cushions attached to the seat. There was no music, none of the cafeteria’s “restaurants” were open, and one of the ceiling lights was broken from an incident involving a thunderbolt a few days earlier. The tables and floors were clean, though, and a stray Shy Guy was hard at work scrubbing a notoriously sticky spot on the ground next to Wario’s usual table. The room was neither luxurious nor dismal- it was painfully standard. It was this blandness that drew Snake here time and time again.  


            Snake made his way to a long, smooth counter that stood neglected in the back of the cafeteria. It held a wide variety of snacks both delicious and questionably edible, all brought as souvenirs from distant worlds. There was a bowl of nine juicy, gold-colored peaches brought by Isabelle, a large jar of pickled turnips provided graciously by Princess Peach, and a whole glazed chicken that had probably been sitting out overnight by this point. _Probably from Simon._ While he wasn’t exactly picky about the food he ate, Snake generally only ate one thing from the snack bar, night after night: peanuts. They sat in a huge sack on the floor at the end of the counter, and he was certain that they were donated by Diddy Kong. Snake wasn’t in love with the flavor or texture of peanuts, but having something to do with his hands always took his mind off of the nightmares. He took a paper coffee cup from a stack the end of the counter and scooped up as many peanuts as he could, heading towards his favorite chair in the southernmost corner of the room.  


            As Snake slipped into his seat, his ears picked up on a sound so quiet as to be nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear. It was a quiet pitter-patter, the sound characteristic of tiny feet slapping against vinyl flooring. The pace was quick, but not quick enough to be running. Even so, Snake’s heart rate rose steadily as the pitter-patter got closer. He tried to focus on cracking open his first peanut, but his hands wouldn’t commit to it. Although the steps sounded small and light, there was no telling who could be on their way. It could be someone dangerous. _What if it’s an enemy?_ He slunk out of his seat and pressed his body against the nearest wall. Clutching his snack close to his chest, he began sneaking towards the cafeteria’s rear exit, which spilled out onto the Mansion’s huge courtyard. He felt exposed without his sneaking suit, and feared he would be spotted by whoever was coming this way. He decided to make a run for it, dashing into the huge glass door and stumbling beyond it into the early morning air. Slamming his back against the wall next to the exit, he peeked back inside to get a read on the person who had invaded his sanctuary. He was prepared to fight for his life if necessary.  


            Of course, it wasn’t necessary. To Snake’s surprise, the footsteps belonged to Bowser Jr., toddling into the cafeteria by himself to grab an early-morning snack. Snake, feeling something similar to relief, watched as the child pushed a chair up to the counter to use as a stepping stool. Junior looked over his shoulder a few times before plunging his hand directly into the glazed chicken Simon had left and ripping off a huge chunk of meat. The Shy Guy who had been scrubbing so diligently until now stared emptily at the spectacle, wet dish rag frozen in hand. Snake felt a little less threatened, but he concluded that it would be a little too emotionally taxing to reenter the cafeteria at this point. It might have even been dangerous to go back in, since Junior had a microscopic fuse and sharp spikes all over his body. Snake unstuck himself from the cold brick wall of the Mansion’s exterior and began walking into the courtyard, a lavish green expanse of carefully-groomed land. Not too far in the distance he spotted a wooden bench that stood next to an opulent, clearly manufactured pond. He decided that this would be his sanctuary until the sun came up and swiftly claimed the bench as his seat. The bench was cold, but Snake thrived in the cold. He enjoyed watching his breath float through the air, and he enjoyed picking mindlessly at the flaky skin the cold created. He drew deep breaths to calm his anxiety　while he began wrestling open the raw peanuts. Once started, this routine continued for a peacefully long time. Breathe in, crack open a peanut, breathe out, eat the peanut. Shells piled up in the space between his legs.  


            Once Snake’s actions became thoroughly mindless, he was able to climb into the rabbit hole of his own thoughts. He wondered how much longer the nightmares would last. _As long as I can remember all the things that happened,_ he thought. He implicitly knew that he would take these nightmares to his grave, a painful reminder of the many horrible things he’d done, not done, and contributed to. He recalled tonight’s dream, a rerun of everything leading up to Meryl’s encounter with Sniper Wolf. Though it was just one of the many traumatizing events that happened during that mission, it was one of the most difficult to deal with. Meryl had been infatuated with the idea of being a soldier, someone who heroically gunned down the forces of evil and created righteous justice in the world. She had been infatuated with Solid Snake, the man who, in her mind, represented this heroism. Snake felt personally responsible for her rude awakening.  


            When Meryl was shot, the image of her once powerful body careening to the ground was instantly and permanently seared into Snake’s mind. He knew instantly that Meryl had been used as bait by Sniper Wolf. He thought constantly about how Meryl had been shot on the sole basis of her emotional connection with Snake. If she had been a stranger, or an enemy, or a fly on the wall, she would have come away unharmed. Yet because of her status as an ally to Snake, she was shot and subsequently killed, out of sight, in a round of torture. Snake was constantly reminded of Meryl. He was constantly reminded that associating with him was punishable by death. A veritable grim reaper. He wondered when a firing squad would show up to take care of Hal and Sunny. The pile of peanut shells between Snake’s legs grew into a hill.  


            As he whittled away at his of peanuts and chewed nervously at the kernels, Snake tried fruitlessly to pull himself out of his own head. He knew, logically, that Meryl’s death hadn’t been entirely his fault. They’d been set up from the start. But his mind gave chase. _I could’ve done something. I should’ve done nothing. If I’d just left her alone, sent her back to Campbell immediately, acted less friendly … Anything would’ve been better than what I did. I killed her. I killed Meryl. I killed Meryl. I killed Meryl. I killed_  


            “HEY!”  


            A shrill voice pierced the cold morning air. The voice came from the doorway to the cafeteria, the very same room Snake had just run away from. Snake’s anxious spiral stopped on a dime to make room for an incredible fight-or-flight response. He snapped his head back to look at the owner of the voice, his stomach suddenly unsettled and his face hot.  


            “What gives?! How come you’re the only one awake right now?!” Junior, surprisingly clean-faced for someone who’d just ripped through an entire cooked chicken, stomped towards the bench where Snake was brooding.  


            “Huh? I’m …” Snake coughed. He realized he hadn’t had any water since he woke up. “Why are you awake? Kids should be asleep right now.” He turned his head back around to face the fountain. Deep breaths.  


            Snake’s comment agitated Junior, who had stopped a few feet behind the bench. The insinuation that someone other than Bowser had any jurisdiction over what he “should” be doing was unacceptable to him. “Who says I need to sleep right now, huh?! Anyways, I asked you first!” He crossed his arms, and Snake couldn’t tell if they were shiny because of the reptilian skin or because of the chicken grease. “How come you’re awake right now? Are you just being creepy?”  


            “… Can’t sleep.” Snake wondered if he should really be validating Junior’s attitude with a response. He decided that answering the child might make him go back to bed sooner. However, Junior was suddenly captivated by Snake’s response to his question. Now there was no escaping further interaction with this little terrorist.  


            “Oh.” Junior was a bit startled that Snake wasn’t responding with hostility. “I can’t sleep either. I was hungry …” He stared fiercely at the back of Snake’s head, shouting, “… so I ate an ENTIRE chicken! No fancy forks or knives, just my own Koopa claws!” He beamed. He stood silently for a moment and waited to gauge Snake’s reaction.  


            Snake silently cracked open another peanut.  


            Junior tried again, “The mess was everywhere!”  


            Snake chewed on a peanut and said nothing.  


            And once more, “Those idiot Shy Guys are gonna be cleaning it up for days! They’re definitely gonna get Simon in trouble for bringing in that greasy crap!”  


            Snake took a long, deep breath that reached far into his belly. Hearing Junior deride the Shy Guys, who were only doing as they were told, burned him a bit. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t gather any coherent thoughts.  


            Junior was intrigued by Snake, an enigma of an adult who never said anything to or socialized with the other adults. Snake was one of the few people that Bowser had explicitly told Junior to not bother with any pranks, along with Ganondorf and Ridley. But Ganondorf and Ridley were ferocious bad guys with violent tendencies and insatiable thirsts for power. Pranking them might end in disembowelment. Snake just seemed like a sad old man with no social skills. So why was he so special? Junior had to find out. He made his way to the front of the bench and sat down on the grass next to Snake’s feet, making sure to stare upwards directly into the veteran’s cloudy eyes.  


            “Hello? Anyone home?” Junior waved his chubby hands around, “I tore that chicken up, did you hear me? it looks like a warzone in the cafeteria! Grease everywhere! I’m gonna tell Master Hand you did it! You’re gonna get banned from the cafeteria FOR LIFE! Forever! Hello?”  


            Snake paused his snacking and placed the half-empty cup of peanuts on the empty seat beside himself.  


            “… You don’t know what a warzone looks like.” Snake decided that he would need drugs to pull him through this interaction. He pulled a pack of unbranded cigarettes from a coat pocket and produced a single stick from the box. He stuck it into his mouth and began searching for his favorite lighter.  


            Junior was stumped by the response he’d gotten. Snake wasn’t upset at the idea of getting in trouble for something he didn’t do? That kind of prank was Junior’s specialty- it had even gotten Mario thrown in jail once. Mario was the kind of person to completely thwart any efforts to frame him, but Snake sat there and was willing to take the brunt of such a punishment. It made him susceptible to pranks, sure, but it also made him the worst person to play pranks on. Junior sat in confused silence, cooking up something else to say or do. He went through a million possibilities, ranging from slowly-built pranks predicated on trust to direct threats of violence. He was snapped out of his stupor when he heard the grinding click-click of a lighter above him. Snake was struggling with a dead lighter, held impatiently to the end of the cigarette hanging from his lips. Junior had never seen a real cigarette before, though he’d heard Wii Fit Trainer harping on about how they weren’t allowed at the Smash Mansion and should be illegal in every dimension. Suddenly he felt guilty, like he was watching something he shouldn’t.  


            “… Is that supposed to be on fire?” Junior pointed gingerly to the cigarette.  


            “… Yeah,” Snake nodded. He realized that maybe cigarettes didn’t exist in the fun, brightly-colored world Mario and his friends came out of. He wondered if Junior knew about the ramifications of smoking.  


            “Hah! That’s easy. Watch this!” Junior felt like he’d struck gold. He’d found something that would definitely pull some kind of reaction out of the adult. He took a deep breath and triumphantly exhaled a tiny flame from his mouth. It was reminiscent of, but much more delicate than, his father’s explosive fire breath. Snake was impressed by the idea that Junior might actually be offering help to someone in his own unique way. He pinched the cigarette between his index and middle fingers, bringing it to the small flame for a moment. When it was sufficiently lit, he took a long drag from it. The familiar taste of tobacco quickly overpowered the taste of peanuts. Junior’s fire died out as he watched Snake’s strange ritual, engrossed in the horrible smell and puffs of smoke.  


            “Does it taste good?” Junior asked quietly.  


            “No.”  


            “Then why are you eating it?”  


            “I’m not eating it. I’m smoking it.”  


            There was that word- smoking. Junior had heard it in this context before. “I’m gonna tell Wii Fit Trainer! She said you’re not allowed to use them ‘cause they’re bad and they smell bad.”  


            “She’s right,” Snake inhaled deeply, “these things are deadly.” Smoke came rushing out of Snake’s mouth and nostrils as he spoke. He wasn’t a chain-smoker, but he understood that he would face consequences for every cigarette he smoked. Sometimes he wished it would kill him faster. Junior thought it was incredibly scary and cool that this man would do something so dangerous for seemingly no reason. _This guy’s not afraid of anything,_ Junior thought.  


            “What do those things do?” Junior asked.  


            “Make me feel better,” Snake exhaled.  


            “Really?! Then … let me have one!” Junior held out an open palm. Snake stared down at it and took another drag.  


            “No way.”  


            “Wha- why not?! I want one!” Junior cried out, indignant.  


            “Why does a little kid need a cigarette?” Snake raised an eyebrow. He didn’t think kids these days thought smoking was cool. Especially not lizard kids from other planets where smoking didn’t exist.  


            “To make me feel better!” Junior was almost yelling by now. Snake pierced him with a half-concerned, half-angry glare that all kids knew well. That _what-do-you-mean-by-that_ stare that psychologically forced children to open up to their elders. Nobody was immune. Junior swallowed his pride and lowered his voice. “… I had a nightmare. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.” Feeling defeated, he crossed his arms and pouted.  


            Snake was surprised. “You had a nightmare, huh …”  


            “Yeah. I mean, I was also hungry, so that woke me up too. But I woke up mainly ‘cause I had a nightmare. Happy?! Now give it here!” Junior thrust out his hand once more, his cheeks puffed and hot. He felt embarrassed, being so vulnerable in front of this strange adult.  


            Snake thought for a moment. “I can’t give you a cigarette. Your dad might snap my spine like a pencil.” This made Junior stifle a giggle through his pouting. He didn’t want to drop his guard, but he knew what Snake said was true. Bowser wasn’t a particularly violent Koopa, but matters regarding his son were one thing that could send him into a blind rage. Junior lowered his hand and looked at the ground.  


            “Fine, you can keep it. But don’t expect any help from me when we’re out on the Battlefield and _I’m_ the only one with stocks to spare!” He crossed his arms once again and stared at Snake’s plain, white slippers.  


            Snake watched Junior for a moment, wondering if what he said was really true. Did Junior have a nightmare? A spoiled little prince with an entire kingdom at his disposal, rich, powerful, and loved … _I guess all kids have nightmares,_ Snake thought. He wondered if Junior was involved with his father’s military, helping him make tactical decisions or learning how to reap profits from violence. Junior was a brat, but he was also known for being a smart kid- smarter than the other Koopalings and perhaps even smarter his own father. Snake knew that someday Junior would become like Bowser, inheriting a kingdom and its military. He wondered if Junior would use this power modestly, or if he would dive into the war business like any other politician. In many ways, Junior represented the beginnings of Snake’s lifelong torture. The beginning of a militaristic tyrant that uses soldiers as pawns. Sitting on the grass between Snake’s feet. Having nightmares, eating without utensils, being petulant, and otherwise acting like a completely normal child.  


            “…Here,” Snake said, picking up his cup of peanuts and holding it towards Junior. Maybe some kindness would go a long way in ending some kind of Mushroom Kingdom war fifty years from now. He could only hope.  


            Junior looked inside the cup and plucked up a peanut between two claws. “Huh?” He mumbled, turning the peanut over a few times. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d never actually eaten a peanut from the shell before. He was used to being served food by chefs. Not having paid attention to Snake’s constant picking at the peanut shells, Junior placed the snack in his mouth, shell and all, and bit down. Snake wasn’t sure if he should say anything while the Koopaling chewed. He sucked on his cigarette and kept quiet.  


            “… That was good,” Junior said, “lemme have some more.”  


            Snake passed the cup to the child, “Err … you can take the rest.”  


            Junior peeked into the cup one more time before pouring the rest of the peanuts into his gaping mouth. A few off-white, sharp teeth poked out as he chewed, and Snake thought they might be cute if not for the owner’s attitude.  


            “So,” Snake started, “what was your nightmare about?” He knew it was an invasive question, especially for a child he’d just spoken to for the first time a few minutes ago. He didn’t care- Junior could answer it or he couldn’t. A little awkwardness wasn’t the end of the world if it meant he could look into the mind of a future war tactician.  


            Junior kept chewing as he spoke, “What, you wanna know so you can pull a prank on me? It’s not gonna work, I’ve pulled that one a bazillion times before. Get to know what scares someone and hit ‘em with it!”  


            _Definitely a future war criminal,_ Snake thought. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said before taking a drag on his cigarette.  


            The ensuing silence gave Junior some time to consider Snake’s inquiry. Why did he want to know about a kid’s nightmares? Junior knew Snake wasn’t planning a prank, seeing as all of the big pranksters at the Mansion had already shown their colors. If he was secretly a prankster, biding his time and enduring the hijinks of all the other troublemakers around, he definitely commanded some respect for that. Otherwise, maybe he just … cared? Was it possible for there to be no sinister intent behind this whole interaction?  


            “I … I had a nightmare about Shy Guys.”  


            “Shy Guys, huh …”  


            “Yeah, Shy Guys. There were a billion of them, and …” Junior swallowed the stringy mush left in his mouth. Snake stayed silent. He knew it wasn’t his turn to talk.  


            “Well … they looked really mad,” Junior continued, though he seemed quite nervous now, “and they were banging on my bedroom door.”  


            Snake inhaled deeply, the end of his cigarette glowing bright red.  


            “They, uh … well, they were mad. That’s it, really. I woke up after that.”  


            Snake exhaled through his nose, releasing a steady stream of light gray smoke. _The trail ends here, I see._ He carefully took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it between his fingers. He took a long pause before speaking.  


            “I had a nightmare too.”  


            Junior’s eyes widened enough to nearly fall out of his head. “What? Really?!”  


            “Really.”  


            “…Don’t make fun of me!”  


            “I’m not!” Snake snapped. Junior went quiet and looked confusedly into Snake’s eyes.  


            “But … what would someone like you have nightmares about?” Junior asked.  


            “Someone like me would _only_ have nightmares, kid.” Snake took a shallow puff of his cigarette. Junior didn’t seem to understand this sentiment, and he huffed in frustration.  


            Snake gazed glossy-eyed into the cloudy horizon as he began to explain. “I have dreams about all the things I’ve done, and all the things I didn’t do. People whose lives I could’ve saved … or maybe I couldn’t have saved them. They were the kind of people who’re doomed from the start. Like me.” The sun peeked out from the clouds and tinted the sky a beautiful and intense orange. He squinted into it.  


            Junior, feeling ashamed for some reason, turned his eyes towards the ground.  


            “I dream a lot about a woman I met who I couldn’t save. She was beautiful and skilled, but she was green as hell. Didn’t understand what war was, what it meant to be a soldier. But she went with it anyways. I think … she felt like she had to. Like it was the role she was meant to play, even if she wasn’t good at it. When she first pointed a gun at someone, her hands were shaking.”  


            Junior’s stomach felt knotted. He couldn’t look at Snake, but his ears were burning.  


            “Anyways, I couldn’t save her. She was shot and captured by the enemy. Not because she was dangerous, but because she was my …” Snake thought for a moment, “she was someone I cared about, to some degree.” It was hard for him to admit it.  


            “They … took her? And then …?” Junior clutched tightly to his scarf. The story was gripping for reasons he didn’t understand. He never listened this intently to bedtime stories.  


            “Well …” Snake found himself wondering if the world Junior came from was a cruel one. He sighed, “They killed her. She was probably in a lot of pain until her last breath, and in the end it was my fault.” His stomach tightened, and he couldn’t tell if he might cry or throw up or both.  


            “Th-that can’t be your fault,” Junior said, “you can’t just go blaming someone else for something like that, especially if that someone is yourself! If something bad happens to someone, it’s their own fault!” He said this with as much confidence as he could muster, but he was shaken. He gripped his scarf so tightly that his knuckles turned pale.  


            Snake felt pierced by Junior’s words- they were the exact same words the Snake from back then would have said. To some extent, Snake still believed that now. “That’s a good mindset for a future militant to have.” The words came out pointedly, and they hit their target. Junior’s eyes welled up, but no tears came out.  


            “Listen, kid. You’re right that you can’t blame yourself for the evil and stupid things that other people do. But you have to take responsibility when you do things that hurt other people, or things that force people to put themselves in harm’s way. I’m taking responsibility by reliving those memories every night, probably for the rest of my life.” That’s how Snake thought of it, but part of him knew that the amount of guilt he felt was unreasonable. He took one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it onto the ground and squashing the butt under his slippers. The dewy, manicured grass was left gray and crumpled where Snake’s foot had been. Junior gazed at the grass before finally lifting his eyes to the veteran’s face.  


            “I … do I have nightmares because I did something bad? Or … am I gonna do something bad?” Junior pleaded.  


            “I don’t know. If you want me to be honest, I’ll tell you that the type of work your father does is work that hurts people. I’m sure your old man doesn’t have any regrets about what he’s done to establish himself, but there are probably a lot of Shy Guys who regret being dragged into that. Shy Guys and … Goombas, or whatever. I don’t know your dad, but I read his file when I got here. He reminds me of the assholes who make soldiers like me. Drafting the vulnerable kids. Molding the stupid ones into aggressive lackeys who get picked off quickly. Molding the smart ones into loyal dogs who are good at following orders and who get picked off a little later. That kind of stuff … it would make anyone feel sick and bitter.  


            “What I mean to say is … you probably haven’t done anything worth having nightmares about yet. But you’re capable of it. You’re gonna have the chance to do that stuff when you replace your father as king. It’s up to you to decide what to do with that responsibility. You can do exactly as he does and be just as happy and rich and powerful. You can go partying and go-karting every weekend, irresponsible and free while other people die to protect your interests. Or you can put in the painful effort to do things differently. It’s not my job to tell you which option is worth it, and even if it was, I couldn’t decide. My purpose has always been to be a servant, so I can’t say I know the comforting feeling of power. But if you decide to do things differently, maybe those Shy Guys in your dreams would be a little nicer to you.”  


            The little Koopaling’s eyes were glazed over, and a single tear stuck to the corner of one of his eyes. In his mind, a battle had suddenly begun: his life’s purpose, his father’s all-important will, versus some newly-forged ideas about the ethics of war. He wanted to defend his dad, because he certainly loved him, but he realized that he didn’t truly understand what it was a Koopa King did. He hadn’t consciously understood why the Shy Guys in his nightmares had been so angry until now. He had a lot to think about. Behind him, the sun had risen a bit higher and was piercing strongly through the thin, gray clouds lingering in the sky. The early-morning sunlight felt warm on Junior’s shell and Snake’s cheeks. They sat in silence for what seemed like a long time before Junior spoke up.  


            “…I’m gonna do my best to … to make the right decision. I don’t want anyone to end up like you.” He jumped a bit, “N-no offense, of course!”  


            Snake gave the slightest hint of a smile. “None taken,” he said, “I’m glad to hear you’ll think about it. Most people in your position wouldn’t think about it at all.”  


            Junior smiled at the validation. He knew that no matter what he decided, someone was going to support his decision, whether it be his father or someone like Snake. He wanted Snake to know that there was someone supporting him, too.  


            “Y’know … I still don’t think it’s your fault. About what happened to that woman. It wasn’t her fault either, though. I think … it was probably the fault of whoever hurt her, right? You didn’t decide that you were gonna kill her or anything, and she probably didn’t want to be killed … so the only person who can be blamed is the one who actually killed her. I think it’s okay to be mad at that person instead of yourself. I mean, that’s how I would feel. I would be really furious. Just thinking about it … it makes me wanna punch someone with my bare fists!” Junior found himself almost shouting, and he quickly quieted down. “So …yeah. Having nightmares about stuff someone else did is just weird.”  


            Junior’s sentiments made Snake smile. For the first time, he returned the child’s gaze. He took notice of the tiredness in Junior’s beady black eyes, eyelids drooping just slightly. “You might be right, Junior. But I’m a little too tired to think anymore,” he said coyly. “I’m heading back to my room.”  


            Junior, realizing that he was tired, let out a yawn that smelled very pungent in the crisp morning air. “Yeah, me too. I wanna go back to bed now.”  


            After dusting off his thighs, Snake began to walk back towards the building. Junior stumbled to his feet and puttered to his new friend’s side. He struggled to keep up- not only was he tired emotionally and physically, but a Koopaling’s legs were naturally a great deal shorter than an adult human’s legs. Snake, feeling generous, slowed to a stop and stooped down on one knee, his back facing Junior. Nothing needed to be said. Junior climbed onto Snake’s back and draped his arms around the man’s neck for support. The weight on Snake’s back was surprisingly heavy, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He made his way back into the Mansion, past the cafeteria where the janitorial Shy Guy was nowhere to be seen. He carefully climbed the huge staircase, where he briefly passed Little Mac, who woke up at 6:00 AM every morning to exercise. Mac stopped dead in the middle of his stair climbing exercise to ogle the sight before him. He suddenly felt like he didn’t know anything about Snake. Nobody did. _Except Bowser Junior, I guess?_ He continued his routine while Snake ascended to the next floor.  


            When Snake arrived at Junior’s room, he was surprised to learn that the kid had been rooming with the seven other Koopalings, whose names were all engraved onto plaques mounted on the door. He crouched down and gently shook Junior off, giving him plenty of time to get both feet on the ground.  


            Junior rubbed his eyes and looked up at Snake. “Thanks for the ride. And, uh … thanks for listening to me. And talking to me. And stuff.”  


            “No problem.” Snake pressed his body against the wall next to the door, not wanting to be seen by any Koopalings who might have been awoken by the disruption. Junior turned the doorknob and slipped inside, not looking back before closing and locking the door.  


            _I guess I can finally head back to my room now, Snake thought._ He thought he should probably feel upset that someone’s child intruded on his alone time, but he instead felt a dim yet comforting warmth. Entering into his room, he quickly jumped out of his slippers and sweatpants and headed over to his bed. He found that his bedsheet and blankets had been replaced by housekeeping, and for once he didn’t feel angry or ashamed of himself, only a very vague sense of gratefulness. He slipped out of his jacket, removing his belongings from the pockets and gently placing them on the nightstand. The jacket went onto the floor next to his bed, Snake unable to gather the energy (or care) needed to put it away properly. His bedside clock’s face glowed at him, reminding him that it was still early enough in the morning to get some rest. _Get some rest, huh …_ It didn’t sound like such a scary idea anymore. In fact, it sounded realistic. He slipped under the covers and closed his eyes.  


            For the next few hours, Snake slept deeply, uninterrupted by dreams or nightmares.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. Please let me know what I can do better in the future.


End file.
